“If Jesus was my brother, like I could touch him, would I have been nice to him? Would Dad and Mum have rubbed it in my face?”

‘Don’t be rude to your brother! He’s the messiah!’

“Maybe when we were playing and I would push him, He would get up, dust himself off and tell the wound, ‘be healed in my name!’

“Or if Jesus was my big brother, maybe he would have been the bully?”

Everyone in the Sunday school class sat their stunned. Sarah had been at it every week. Last week she imagined herself as Abraham’s wife in the desert.

“Where would we shower? How would we brush our teeth?  What would we eat? How did Abraham walk being that old?”

The Sunday school teacher encouraged curiosity and would challenge these young minds. There is a day Sarah got so carried away with the story of Moses parting the Red Sea, she likened a boys partitioned hair to it. She got a biro pen and stabbed the poor boys scalp to try and drive the point home to the rest; to the amusement of all, except the poor boy.

But this Sunday, It felt like blasphemy. Teacher Amanda was tongue tied, all she could do is pray. She gazed out the window, and saw the Deacon passing by. The adult service was over. Sarah was still blabbering.

“And when he was speaking at the temple would I have been as wise as he was?”

Teacher Amanda explained the situation to the Deacon and invited him in.

“Hello Sarah?” His greeting cut her short. “Teacher Amanda tells me all about your wonderful questions…”

‘Yes Mr. Deacon!” She responded innocently, cutting the deacon off, about to continue from where she left off.

“How about we ask Jesus now?” Deacon responded.

“How?” The class chorused.

“Simply ask him, like you do in prayer!” Everyone nodded understanding.

Sarah wasted no time, she belted out her questions.

“Dear Jesus! Hi! It’s your sister Sarah can I ask you some questions?”

And that was how Sarah’s 85 year long journey of faith begun. Her grandson stood at the podium reading her eulogy. Everyone dying of laughter as he imitated the little girl voice she used to tell him the story in. It was a celebration of a life well lived, not limited by fear of others opinions. But one of a free spirit, nothing was out of bounds for questioning for the head of the Anglican Church.

“Had she been catholic she would have been Africa’s first female pope.” Adam, Sarah’s Grandson chuckled at the end of her eulogy.

The mourners laughed, stomachs aching and tears of joy flowed down their eyes. Just the way Great grandmother Sarah would have wanted.


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